


Healing

by eerian_sadow



Category: Fire Emblem: The Sacred Stones
Genre: Community: springkink, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injurues, mutual comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-07
Updated: 2008-11-07
Packaged: 2018-09-21 14:44:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9553265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eerian_sadow/pseuds/eerian_sadow
Summary: In trying to spare the healers the burden of caring for his physical injuries, Joshua accidentally exposes emotional damages instead.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Go easy on me! This is my first ever Fire Emblem piece, for any game in the series. That being said, I’m happy with how this turned out, though I fudged a couple of details. (At least I think I fudged; sometimes I remember things I thought I was just making up ^^)

The battles were getting harder. It wasn’t just the death of his mother that prompted the thought, though that was certainly a contributing factor. It was also the hoards of monsters that didn’t care if they lived or died, the bandits who didn’t care if anyone lived or died as long as they were rich and the low lifes and scum serving the Empire who cared only if people died. Joshua was disheartened—and growing more so—by knowing they faced such battles.

And yet, like Erika and Ephraim, he carried on.

Right now, he was carrying on with bandages in one hand and a healing salve balanced carefully on one knee. His left arm was torn open, to the bone in places, and seeping some kind of black ichor instead of blood. He hoped it wasn’t too late to save it; they couldn’t afford the loss of his arm right now.

He hated the zombies the most; they carried some truly foul diseases.

“Joshua? What are you doing? I saw your light still on…” Natasha’s voice was soft, tired, and his belief that he handle his injury himself felt justified. When he looked up, she was even dressed for bed, with her hair neatly braded to escape tangles rather than lying under her scarf. “Oh, sweet Goddess! Why didn’t you let me heal that?”

“You were exhausted. You and Moulder both. And Lute isn’t very good with staves yet.” He handed her the salve. “But if you’re going to stand here, hold that please.”

“Joshua, you cannot gamble with your life like this.” She set the salve aside and took out her healing staves—one for poison and disease and one for mending wounds, he noticed. “All wounds should be healed after battled, whether the healers have worked themselves to exhaustion or not. This could get very bad without the proper treatment.”

She was stubborn, determined to do what she believed was right no matter the cost, and Joshua knew better than to argue with her. Natasha held the poison staff aloft and chanted softly. Almost immediately, the wound filled with blood instead of ichor. He pressed the bandages to it while she changed staves.

The cleric inspected her handiwork critically when she was finished chanting the second time. The wound had scarred, but it wasn’t serious; he had a much worse scar on his back from a training accident years ago.

“It wouldn’t have scarred like that if you had let me treat it sooner,” she said reproachfully.

“It’s nothing.” His thoughts turned, unbidden, to thoughts of his mother suddenly. She would have no chance for scars that should have been healed sooner. “Thank you.”

“Joshua, are you all right?”

He wanted to scream at her. To snap that he wouldn’t be all right, his mother was dead and what part of that didn’t she understand? He reigned in the impulse. Natasha was asking because she was a caring person, and he had always gone out of his way to be…princely to her.

“No,” he replied.

“Your mother was a strong woman,” she said, no hesitation or fear of rebuke in her voice. “You honor both her life and her memory.”

Joshua looked up at the cleric like he had been slapped. “What?”

“You and your actions honor your mother. Even if you didn’t agree with her, you loved her and she knew that. And you were there with her, at the end.” Natasha took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Even Prince Ephraim has shed tears for his lost father, Joshua. Do not be afraid to let go your grief.”

“I need it. I have to have it to remember what I’m fighting for.” He couldn’t look her in the eyes.

“I said let go your grief, not your anger. Your anger will keep you fighting long after determination will have broken down. Your grief will only distract you and get you killed.” Her grip on his hand tightened. “I saw that when Vanessa…”

He swept her into an embrace before she broke down into tears. She held on to him tightly, her tiny frame racked by sobs. He buried his face in her hair and allowed himself to shed a few tears as well. If anyone had asked, however, he wouldn’t have been able to say if the tears were for his mother or for Natasha.  



End file.
